Ironic Weather
by ne-ma-pa-sa-ra
Summary: nature was a fickle thing...RHr


**Title: **Ironic Weather

**Author: **nemapasara

**Characters/Pairing:** Hermione (with Ron/Hermione)

**Summary: **_nature is a fickle thing_

The climate persisted to be ironic.

It was somewhat laughable, but she felt herself not laughing. Quite the contrary, tears brimmed the corner of her eyes as the water streamed by her feet quietly. Her scalp burned from the eminent rays of light pouring through the cloudless sky. Nothing around her grasped the reflection of the bitterness she felt inside her. Hermione let herself curse the weather for being so damn ludicrous.

It shouldn't be this way. It would've been easier to see the last day of the world she had grown to love looking miserably drenched in outpours of continuous precipitation. It would've been easier to let go. But there she was, watching the sun cast a glow over the scenery so stunningly, that Hermione felt her breath stop short for a just a second. This peaceful serene was her home over the past six summers and now Hermione was forced to part from it, knowing that when she came back it was likely that it'd never hold its unique tranquility for her again.

She was seated on the flat stone in the shallow ends of the stream, her feet stroking the cool water absentmindedly. Her spring dress was hitched above her knees, the bright colours corresponding with the climatic mood. She released her unkempt curls out of its tight release and let the mist of the fresh air run its non-existent fingers through her brown mane. Her eyes fluttered shut, as Hermione felt the cool sprints of water hitting her skin.

Her head fell back, mangled with disturbing and barmy notions of unanswered questions she'd had these days. For three months, she had been having a continuous inner battle with herself, slowly losing grip of control. For once, Hermione couldn't rely on her books for solutions to her problems. And it was a scary thought. Scarier than the fact that she could die at any time, that her odds of death were greater due to the mere prejudice fact that she was born into a family of non-magical people.

Hermione felt helpless. Selfish. She wanted so badly to be home, warm in her cozy single bed where the intricate of magic lived only in the realm of her imagination. Sometimes, when Hermione was so far branched away from reality, she wondered about what it would've been like if she had rejected her acceptance at Hogwarts. Each year at that school was like branching those monsters in the closet that she feared when she was little into her reality. These fable monsters became so real.

Hermione opened her lids and stared into the non-existent reality that the weather was bestowing her with. If Hermione could, she wouldn't go back. She wouldn't change anything because she loved this world and knew now she was given the chance to pay her debt for it giving her so much. Hermione would fight, even if she felt herself not so brave at the moment. The nervous racking of her insecurities held nothing over the desire she had to save the people around her.

Hermione grew anxious, to the point where it was bordering paranoia. She feared for the souls in her life, friends who grew so close to her that Hermione felt like she couldn't see her life without them. The death toll seemed to have increased by the day and Hermione knew it wasn't entirely impossible that one of her friends could die. That's why she wasn't completely upset by the celebrations of the nuptial between Bill and Fleur. This was their last chance at happiness for possibly a long time. Today was the last day of summer and tomorrow she, Harry and Ron would be setting out on the search for the remaining Horcruxes. It was important that not only them, but every person in both the magical and non-magical world could savour a few valuable memories.

After tonight, everything would change. Hermione felt like she wasn't ready to die, if in fact, her time was running short. She set out to _be _someone her entire life and it gave her an empty sentiment of the possibility that her dream could never happen. But thinking about it all, she wasn't most worried about herself. Yes, she was a walking target but Harry was a sought out prize. Dozens of Death Eaters would give anything to have the chance to present _the_ Harry Potter to Voldemort. They'd push her out of the way to get him.

And that didn't make her feel any better.

The wind was starting to pick up and it blew rapidly through her hair. She sat up, staring out at the landscape in front of her and breathed a heavy sigh. Standing up at full height, Hermione turned around ready to return to her distorted reality, the images of one of Ron's uncles trying to convince the newly-wed Fleur to dance with him, a bottle of beer in his hand. Her heart sank. But she let herself take one last look at the swaying water.

She heard the fallen autumn leaves behind her crunch at the weight of footsteps. She turned her head.

Ron stood there, behind her, a vacant expression on his face. She slowly, turned back to look at the river. The welled up tears she had been holding back seemed to fight to struggle free. Hermione froze, as the leaves ruffled once again. Her heart seemed to have stopped working. And then Hermione felt his hand on her shoulder and her heart, all too quickly, starting beating wildly in her chest. Ron always seemed to have that affect on her; whether it be that they were fighting or talking. Or even just being in close proximity to each other.

She closed her eyes, the melancholic notes of the wind encompassing her. His hand never left its place and she found it hard to move. Yet, she forced herself to shift forward, her feet now laying in the low waters. A single tear, fallen on her ivory skin. Ron, nonetheless, moved forward again, showing an unusual spirit of not wanting to give up. When he was situated beside her, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She chanced a side glance at him.

He was looking back.

It was something she couldn't pull herself out of. No matter how bad she wanted to look away, her eyes stayed cold stone to the boy of her affections. She had been waiting six year, six _years_ for him to show her some sort of similar feeling back.

And now here he was, giving her the most sympathetic look she'd ever seen him give. Like he understood every ounce of fear, despair and longing she held inside of her. He opened his mouth to speak but she gingerly placed her finger on his bottom lip. She expected him to widen his eyes and back away from the awkward closeness. But she had to remember that Ron never did what she expected.

He stayed calmly still. Only looking at her with earnest sapphire eyes. The affect of the upcoming war obviously taking its toll on him. He gently grabbed her wrist, getting the message of her action. Hermione didn't want words. They didn't work well with words. It always ended up in a fight and unresolved feelings. Silence was their best policy.

The branches swayed roughly.

The waves hitting jagged against them.

The illuminate sun was clouded over by graying billows and the earth grew gloomy.

But they didn't notice the persistent change of climate.

His grasp was still on her wrist. He gently lifted it to his level and laid a feather light kiss on the inside, then quietly letting it go. Hermione's eyes fluttered close at the contact and she breathed in his musky scent. The airy music of the close by festivities echoed through her ears softly. She touched her fingers against his forearm and look up at him once again. She was graced with a small smile.

Her voice choked. Tears ran freely down the sides of her face as she lifted herself to his level and embraced him tightly. Her arms enveloped around his neck as he slid his hands on her back, rubbing random spots comfortingly. He held her head against his chest as she wept. A raven's sorrowful cry was heard floating carelessly through the sky.

Her breath returned to its normal pace and she had stopped crying. Without noticing, her fingers started playing with the short hairs at Ron's nape. Inattentive, Hermione didn't become aware of an involuntary shiver coursing through him. His hands moved down her back and she felt her breath hitch. His heartbeat fast against her eardrum. Hermione lifted her glance towards her best friend. He looked down at her.

It was a mutual agreement spoken silently. He laid his hands on her waist and carefully pulled her closer to him. She had hers on his arms, looking into his mesmerizing eyes. He leaned down, a few inches, his breath lingering on her skin. Hermione shut her eyes tight, knowing it was all a dream and that in the next second she'd wake up in a lumpy bed.

Instead, she felt warm lips tingle along her own in an innocent connection. The contact was almost unbearable. Her pulse was racing uncontrollably as his slightly calloused hands ran their way down to her waist. Her arms snaked fully around his neck.

It was surreal.

Hermione felt a light drop fall on her bare shoulder. Breaking the kiss, she noticed for the first time, the storm clouds in her presence. She laughed quietly to herself at the irony the weather was displaying. Hermione sheepishly glanced at Ron, arms still around each other and smiled. For the first time in months she felt a smile grace her features.

The rain changed pace, and poured onto the earth. Within seconds, she felt her clothes uncomfortably cling to her. Yet, almost maniacally, Hermione looked up at the sky once again and laughed. She laughed as the rainwater fell upon her face, relieving her of any thoughts she previously had. She slowly turned her attention to Ron, who was silently watching her.

She remained quiet, a knowing grin smirched on her face. Hermione let her arms fall to her side and smiled meaningfully at the dreadful weather.

Her small hand slipped into Ron's rather large ones. She lead them away from the river and back to the celebration. They quietly strolled along the path. And Hermione was still smiling stupidly, because for once in her life, she was perfectly content that it was raining.


End file.
